Chapter 3:The Library Encounter
904 Words
The library was quieter than usual that evening, wrapped in a soft hush that made Lily feel like she had stepped into another world. She came because she needed distance—distance from her thoughts, from her racing heartbeat, from the echo of his voice saying her name for the first time.
She just needed space to breathe.
She chose a table tucked in the corner, half hidden behind tall shelves of literature. The warm yellow lamp cast a soft pool of light over her books. It felt safe here. Private. Far away from the weight of his eyes.
She opened her notebook, trying to focus on the essay outline. But all she could see was the way he had looked at her earlier. Like he was trying not to think about something.
Or someone.
She shook her head. Stop. You’re overthinking everything.
Minutes slipped by. Then an hour. She actually felt herself relax. The quiet rhythm of pages turning, distant footsteps, the gentle hum of the library—it all lulled her into a calm she hadn’t felt in days.
She didn’t notice footsteps slowly approaching her aisle. She didn’t notice someone pause at the end of her row. She didn’t notice the familiar silhouette standing just far enough away to watch her for a moment.
She was too focused, too lost in her notes.
She only noticed when the air around her shifted—subtly, like a presence she recognized before she dared to look.
When she finally lifted her head…
Professor Hale was standing there.
Her breath slipped out in a small, quiet gasp.
He wasn’t wearing his usual dress shirt. Just a simple fitted sweater, sleeves pushed to his forearms, a book in hand. Casual. Calm. Too handsome in a way that felt unfair in a library where she was supposed to concentrate.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said gently.
“You didn’t,” she lied, though her pulse was proof enough.
His eyes flicked to her open notebooks, the scattered pens, her determined posture.
“You study here often?”
“Sometimes,” she whispered.
He nodded once, then… he did something that made her pulse spike.
He stepped closer.
Not to leave.
Not to pass by.
But toward her table.
Her breath caught as he pulled the chair across from her—slowly, carefully—and sat down. His presence filled the small space between them like something warm and heavy.
“I hope you don’t mind if I read here,” he said, placing his book on the table.
She blinked. “…No. It’s fine.”
But it didn’t feel fine.
It felt like every nerve in her body had woken up at once.
He opened his book, but he wasn’t reading. She could feel the moment his eyes lifted, meeting hers through the quiet glow of the lamp. It wasn’t a stare this time. It was softer. Intentional.
“Long day?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m… trying to catch up.”
“You seem dedicated.”
His tone carried something warm—admiration, maybe—enough to make her look down and pretend to adjust a page she didn’t need to adjust.
She could feel his gaze on her again, not as sharp as in class, but more… personal. As if the library's quiet invited honesty he didn't allow himself in daylight.
After a moment, he set his book down slightly.
“About earlier,” he said softly.
Her heart stopped.
He leaned forward just a little, elbows resting on the table, eyes locked on hers with an intensity she felt everywhere.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t,” she said quickly.
A small, almost disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Her voice was too soft. Too real.
He studied her—truly studied her—as if searching for something she wasn’t saying.
The silence between them thickened, warm, charged. She felt his attention like heat against her skin even though he stayed perfectly still. He looked like he wanted to say something more, something he shouldn’t.
Instead, he drew a slow breath and leaned back.
“I’m glad,” he said finally.
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
They both pretended to read after that, pages turning more for the illusion than the content. But every few minutes she felt it—that pull, that quiet awareness that he was watching her again.
Not constantly.
Just enough.
Enough to make her feel like she wasn’t imagining anything.
Enough to make her wonder what he was thinking sitting across from her, alone, in the soft library light.
And enough to make her realize the dangerous truth settling quietly between them:
He had chosen to sit with her.
Not near her.
Not in the same room.
With her.
Her.
Out of every empty table in the library.
And when she finally closed her notebook to leave, his eyes followed her movements with that same quiet intensity.
“Goodnight, Lily,” he said softly.
It wasn’t formal.
It wasn’t professional.
It sounded like a promise he wasn’t supposed to make.
She left the library with her heartbeat tangled in her chest.
And behind her, he didn’t open his book again for a long time.
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- Writer
